


Fragile

by Daft_and_Daring



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, My brain won't shut up about these two, Prequel, Romance, Something in here must be canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21700597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daft_and_Daring/pseuds/Daft_and_Daring
Summary: Normally, families in these situations crumble irreparably. He has seen so many people who are permanently fractured. But in this case, he can tell that while Jessica Whitly may be fragile, she certainly is not broken.Gil is determined to help a persevering Jessica while being a good father-figure for Malcolm. Along the way, they keep one another afloat, but something else emerges between the pair as well. It is flickering and faint, but they can't quite shake it. So, it's only a matter of time before lines are drawn and people get hurt.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Jessica Whitly, Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Gil Arroyo/Jessica Whitly
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this has been churning in my head since their first scene together. I'm not 100% sure where this is going, but I love watching them interact. I have a feeling I'm going to be sinking with this ship, but I'm not mad about it.

**Chapter 1**

A piece of Gil died that day in 1998.

Not because of his brush with The Surgeon—he had plenty of close calls before, and he sure as hell would have more—but a piece of himself died in solidarity.

He died for an obliterated family; for a devastated little boy; for an unknowing little girl, and for an abandoned wife, left to pick up the pieces of two kids who would probably only know their father as a monster.

And it killed Gil.

As he knelt in front of that shaking kid, he tried his best to comfort him, to convince him the world wasn't falling apart, but it was. And it did that day for Malcolm & the Whitlys.

None of them would be the same.

He knew it wasn't his job. It was well beyond the job. In fact, it may have been highly frowned upon, but Gil did it anyways. It was the right thing to do. And Gil always did the right thing. He prided himself on that. Why else wear the badge and the blue?

So here's Gil Arroyo: full-time police officer, part-time foster parent of sorts. The offer actually slipped it from his lips before he even realized it.

Because after Dr. Whitly was taken into custody, Gil stuck around—albeit shaken—to help with statements and boxing up evidence. For most of the night he stuck with Malcolm, who seemed like a pretty smart kid, but for now was reduced to monosyllabic responses and tear-stained eyes. He'd slide over a tissue when he could to keep the boy from wiping his face on the collar of his striped pajamas, but it seemed all the tissues in the world wouldn't stop the kid's shirt from getting soaked. Gil was afraid the shock would never wear off.

He tried to make small talk, anything to bring him around, but Gil realized early that Malcolm wasn't the type. Malcolm wanted to stare at the carpet of his living room. So, that's where they sat in silence, on a puffed settee that probably cost more than Gil's car.

Gil knew he should get the kid's head outta wherever it was going, but at this point, all he could do was wring his palms together and glance at the flurry of officers and forensics. Nobody had paid him much mind in the last hour, probably trying to give him some space. _He did just survive a serial killer after all._

But Gil really didn't think much of it. He was too focused on what to say to this kid next to him. And then it hit him:

There was nothing he could really say.

This boy just lost his father in the worst possible way. And to some degree, Gil understood. He could never pretend to empathize with Malcolm, but Gil knew loss, at least. So, he did what felt right.

Gil reached a hand over and gently laid it on Malcolm's which were clenched in his own lap. Without a word, Malcolm's small fingers wrapped around his own, still white from squeezing them so tightly. Malcolm's hands were shaking, but as time went on, the color began to return, and he trembled a little less, and for a moment, Malcolm closed his eyes and sighed softly.

They sat that way forever it seemed. Long enough for Malcolm's head to droop onto Gil's outstretched arm. From the angle, he couldn't tell if the kid was asleep, but the even breaths and lessened grip on his hand told him that whatever he was doing, it was working.

Gil smiled slightly at the sight. Something told him the kid could be okay. He's not sure what gave him the idea, it was just a gut feeling, but so far Gil's hunches had been pretty good.

"You're great with him," a small voice cracked next to him.

Gil blinked and turned his head to follow the voice.

Malcolm's mother stood in the doorway. Her eye makeup was smudged, and she held her arms around herself as if her beige jacket would swallow her up. One look of her face told Gil everything he needed to know: she had seen hell in these few hours.

"I'm just doing my job, ma'am." Gil's heart ached as she crossed the room and lowered herself to sit on a chair opposite of him. He didn't understand how she was doing it.

She took a deep breath and sighed, looking at her son all the while. She looked at him with such love, and Gil assumed now that Malcolm had to be asleep.

"Do you have children, Officer…?" She trailed off realizing she couldn't remember his name. He didn't expect her to, but the look that flashed across her face told him she was appalled she hadn't. If anyone deserved a pass, it was this woman in front of him.

"Arroyo. Gil Arroyo. But please, call me Gil." He offers a wide smile, but she can't seem to bring herself to match it. Gil suddenly feels like a fool, so he clears his throat to fill the space. "And no, I don't have children."

"Do you want children?" He is aware that she's now staring intently at him before something else crosses her face and she straightens her frame. "I'm sorry, that's a personal question, I shouldn't have—"

"No need to apologize." Gil paused as he tried to think of what else he wanted to say. It was a bit of a sore subject for him and his wife as of late. "My–my wife and I want kids. Dozens if we can," At that, the woman smiles just a fraction. "But…" He trails off as a lump forms in his throat. He didn't expect it to be this difficult to talk about with a perfect stranger.

When he looks back at the lady across from him, her eyes are glassy and her face is solemn. "I understand. No need to continue." She says simply.

Gil exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Thank you."

At that, she scoffs, "I'm fairly certain _I_ should be thanking _you_." She's looking at him with a determination that—in all honesty—kind of scares him. "You saved my family today."

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, ma’am. _Your_ son saved _my_ life—”

A hand flies up to stop him from speaking. With a face dead-set like that, he’s not sure he could interrupt her if he tried.

"And it may be part of your job, it may come with the territory, but I am so…" Tears are forming at the edge of her eyes, but she blinks them back in record fashion. " _Grateful_. You saved our lives and who knows how many others."

She pauses again to take a deep breath and Gil is in awe with how this woman is so put together. Normally, families in these situations crumble irreparably. He has seen so many people who are permanently fractured. But in this case, he can tell that while Jessica Whitly may be fragile, she certainly is not broken.

Gil leaves the silence between them for a moment, searching her face. As air fills his lungs from one of the deepest breaths he's probably ever taken, he finally knows what to say.

His voice is firm, yet warm. "You will survive this. You will survive him. This kid here?" Gil gestures with his free hand to a worn Malcolm, "He will survive this. And so will your daughter. I can't say how or when, but you will."

A gasp escapes her lips. "I'm afraid I don't know how." Her voice is barely above a whisper; her face says she is no longer so sure of herself. She grasps at the corner of her skirt and Gil is afraid he's said too much, but something else compels him to keep going.

"You will figure it out." He smiles. "You're strong, and you'll do what's best for your kids, Mrs. Whitly. I can feel it." Jessica chuckles at that and gingerly swipes the edges of her eyes.

"Thank you for the pep talk, but I'm not so sure of that. Not exactly feeling ready to conquer the world after the day I’ve had." She pauses before adding, "And for god's sake call me Jessica."

Gil's eyebrows knit. "Well, I am sure of it.. And I'm happy to help you get there, too. In whatever way. If you need a hand around the house? Help with Malcolm? Hell, if you need a break from Malcolm. You need help with anything? You let me know, _Jessica._ " At that, her smile finally breaks free, and he can’t help but match it.

“That sounds lovely, Gil. Thank you.” Jessica relaxes back into her chair and looks back down at her sleeping son.

Yeah, he thinks they’ll be just fine in the end.

The police officer is aware of some pins and needles in his arm from being tucked into Malcolm for so long, but he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he thinks about what he just agreed to.

Hopefully, his wife is okay with it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Please be aware that I am touching a bit on alcoholism starting with this chapter and onward. I do try to address it seriously while also keeping it true to how the show handles it.

**Chapter 2**

Gil saw the signs early on. 

He'd stop by to check on Malcolm and catch a note of liquor as soon as she'd answer the door. To be fair, Jessica never reeked of alcohol. No, the only thing Jessica ever exuded was opulence and gumption. 

Gil simply noticed. He wasn't sure if that was a cop thing, but here he was in the Whitly foyer with Malcolm babbling about something Gil should be listening to, but he was too preoccupied eyeing the nearly empty decanter of liquid amber in the other room. Nothing was out of place, as usual, but Gil found himself glancing at the crystal more and more. Just to be sure.

Gil was pulled from his thoughts by a tug at his belt. 

"Hey Malcolm, I'm sorry." He ruffled the boy's hair and knelt down to level with him. The boy beamed. He was getting so big so fast. "What do you need, my man?"

"Have you caught any bad guys lately?" He sounded so serious. Normally, kids were excited about cops fighting criminals, but Malcolm always seemed equally concerned and careful when he asked Gil about the job. Inquisitive and interested, but definitely concerned. With good reason. It left Gil conflicted as to whether or not he should answer all of Malcom's questions, but ultimately he figured it was more good than harm. He lived in the dark enough already.

Gil sighed at the puppy dog eyes that met his own. "Well, I caught a burglar after chasing him through the park." He laughs as he recounts the series of events in his mind. "I tackled him, and we both flew into a hot dog cart."

Malcolm smiles at that, and Gil is glad he can bring about some happiness for the kid, even if only for a brief moment. "Did you get hurt?" The spark that was previously in his eyes is already gone.

The corner of Gil's lips turn up. “Nah. But thanks for watching out for me.” Of course Malcolm wanted him to be safe. This kid should be worrying about soccer or piano lessons, but instead he was worrying about how everyone else was fairing. It wasn't fair. So, all Gil could do is try and reassure him. Be there for him.

So far things were going well. However, it started with slight apprehension.

The night Dr. Whitly was arrested, Gil confessed to Jackie what he offered Jessica, and she was _apprehensive_ , to say the least. 

_"Gil?! You know I would never turn a child away if they need help, but we don't know these people! I mean, what were you thinking?!"_

He wasn't.

That was not the answer Jackie Arroyo was looking for.

_"And if we get pregnant? What then? Are you going to have time to help with OUR child, or will you be raising this kid?"_

That stung.

He understood she was angry, but as soon as the words left her mouth she looked wounded. They already knew the answer. Jackie just desperately kept holding on. Although it was hard for Gil, he was more of a realist. In some ways, that's what he loved about Jackie; she always held on to hope when he gave it up.

Some time after that initial spat, Jessica still hadn't reached out to him. He was wondering if she agreed just to appease him. And he knew he should just let it go. It was probably for the best. On the other hand, Gil's was also persistent.

So, he knocked on the Whitly door in street clothes one mid-morning Saturday, shifting as he realized he had no clue what to say. 

Jessica was surprised, but grateful.

Malcolm, wide-eyed behind his mother's stance, beamed when he saw Gil. He didn't really expect the kid to remember him. _"Officer Arroyo!"_ He cried as Jessica shuffled them in. He began asking Gil a thousand questions, and the police officer attempted to keep up all while Jessica stood slack-jawed. Jessica would later reveal to Gil that Malcolm hadn't really been using more than a few syllables towards anyone but her or the child psychologist for weeks.

She kept saying thank you, over and over again as she packed a bag of things for her son. They weren't doing too much, just going to grab lunch so Jessica could take a break while Ainsley napped.

And everything clicked for them. Gil learned so much about Malcolm in that first day. When they returned home with milkshakes in hand, Jessica laughed wildly and snatched the only chocolate one without skipping a beat.

A few weeks later, she called him late one night, strife laced in her voice. He could tell she was overwhelmed. Near tears. Malcolm was suffering from night terrors. But with a quick breath she collected herself and the hesitancy once there evaporated. She wanted to know if he would be willing to take Malcolm for a few hours the next day. Apparently, Malcolm had been begging his mother to let him spend time with Gil since his last visit. 

So that Saturday, Gil introduced Malcolm to Jackie, and the rest was history. 

She positively melted, and Malcolm was completely besotted with Jackie. He knew he wasn't totally off the hook, but as he watched Malcolm and Jackie prepare dinner in their tiny kitchen, he knew this was right. These last few months were still hell for the Whitly’s, but at least Gil could lend a helping hand. In a way, the Whitly’s seemed to be helping his own family, too.

"Gil, are you ok?" He blinks as Malcolm tugs at his side once again.

"Yeah, sorry.” He shakes his head, “I was just thinking about how you are such a great kid.” Malcolm’s cheeks squish with a puzzled expression. Gil smiles at the boy and sticks a thumb towards the living room. “Why are we hanging out here? Let’s go sit down.”

Malcolm rolls his eyes. “That’s what I’ve been sayin’.” 

He grabs Gil’s sleeve and lurches him into the next room. Jessica’s voice bubbles from somewhere deeper in the house and Gil only briefly thinks he hasn’t seen Ainsley yet. Malcolm plops himself on the floor and busies himself with a coloring book and a fresh set of Crayola’s. Jessica mustn’t have noticed the setup yet, because even Gil knows:

_My love, crayons are for the craft room. We’ve addressed this at least fifteen times._

Gil pretends he doesn’t remember the rule and places himself in his usual spot on the couch, if it could even be called a couch. _Couches_ were comfy; this thing is more like...

Jessica bursts into the room before he can consider it further. She, of course, is impeccably dressed in an emerald sheath dress and nude heels.

“Gil! Have you not been listening to me?” Her tone is annoyed but amused. Gil tries to ignore the slur off the end of her ‘ _listening_.’

He straightens up in the piece of art for a sofa, “Sorry, Jessica. I was hanging here with Malcolm.” He looks down to see Malcolm’s toothy grin aimed at his mom, probably hoping she won’t notice the studio the boy has created on the floor.

She waves a hand, one clenching a glass. Gil didn’t even need to process it. He knew what was in the glass. She halts her move across the room towards them, cocking her head to the side and shifting her hip. “Oh, what is it with you men? None of you ever listen!” She laughs and throws back the drink in a single move. Gil can only imagine the burn in his throat, but the socialite seems unfazed. He is certain now that something is wrong.

“I listen!” Malcolm pipes in. His smile is wide, but so, so fake. Gil pops up from the sofa and gestures towards Malcolm. As adorable as the kid is, it’s probably best he isn’t around for this.

“Oh, yes you do, my sweet, sweet boy!” Jessica gushes as she moves closer to him. “Wait, are those crayons?” Gil quickly dives between them and scoops him up. 

“—Hey kid, why don’t you head to the craft room and I’ll be there in a bit to see what you’ve added to the collection.” Gil adds a smile for effect. “Your mom and I just need to talk for a bit.”

Malcolm gave them a quizzical look but gathered his things as he was told. The kid was far too perceptive. “I’ll see you in a minute, right Gil?” He asks as if he’s unsure he’ll ever see the officer again.

It turns Gil’s insides a bit, but he smiles anyways. “I’m not going anywhere, man.” That seems to satisfy the boy as sets off after a confident nod and a shuffle into the rest of the Whitly townhouse.

“Well, this sounds serious.” Jessica says with mirth as she refills her glass from the decanter in the corner of the room. She turns around to face him, and Gil jumps in before he can talk himself out of it.

“What’s that for?” Gil gestures towards the refreshed cup of whiskey in her hand.

She only shrugs. “Well, I didn’t think mimosas would do the trick today.” She laughs like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Why? Would you like some?” She offers genuinely as she moves towards the center of the room to stand by him. He feels like he should get her to sit down, so he delicately lowers himself to one of the settees. 

She doesn’t follow suit.

“No...thanks…” Gil smooths a non-existent wrinkle from his jeans as Jessica continues.

“I could have a mimosa made, if you’d prefer that to bourbon?” She’s halfway back to the kitchen door. “Adolphe occasionally goes wild and puts sparkling champagne in his recipe instead of brut. You absolutely must try it!” Her hands roll in a dozen directions as she speaks, “What the hell, I’ll have one too! ADOL—”

“—Thank you, but really, I’m fine.” His tone is even, concerned. Her eyes are wide and confused. He’s so afraid to continue, but he knows he must. “And Jessica...I don’t mean to impose, but isn’t it maybe…a little early for that?” He motions to the hefty two measures of drink in the glass she’s waving around.

Jessica strolls back to him and unceremoniously drops to the seat next to him. She blinks, confused, like he’s said something incredibly stupid. “It’s after eleven,” is all she offers. 

Her face is stone. 

If stone could boil.

Gil takes a long pause and a hard stare. “It’s nine a.m.” 

Jessica's head rolls as a 'Pfft' leaves her lips. 

Gil's not letting it go. “I’m worried about you...and Malcolm, and Ainsley...Where _is_ Ainsley, by the way?”

“I think she’s in her room.” She says, as if it's an afterthought.

“You think?!”

She launches out of her seat. “I say that because she’s been a little feverish lately, so I had her in my room for a few hours earlier this morning, and I couldn’t remember if I took her back to her room, or if she’s still asleep in my bed!” Her voice is borderline shrill.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. You’re a good mother...”

“—Especially after all you have been through.” Jessica's face twists in disgust.

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

She throws her arms up, “Well, it’s always heavily implied with everyone else!” Jessica's frantically pacing in circles. "And who are you to attack me?! _I_ am a _fabulous_ mother, and I only want what's best for my children! My bastard of a husband be damned!" She slams her glass down on the nearest side table to emphasize her point. “And screw you! You come in here, claiming to help me, but all you have done is taken my son away from me—”

“—wait, _what?_ ” Gil jumps up to meet her, grabbing a hold of both her arms. “Jessica, I offered to help you and your family.” He searches her eyes but all he sees is fire. “I just want to help.”

Her eyes flicker. They’re glassy as she pulls away from him. “At the expense of my family.” Her voice is beaten. 

Gil shakes his head. “I–I don’t know what gave you that idea.”

“Oh Gil, cut the bullshit.” He stiffens at her stare. 

“You have a son now,” she swallows like she can’t handle what she’s about to say. “...I have lost everything, and you have gained all.” She flourishes a hand in sick acceptance.

Gil slouches, defeated. He can’t even look at her.

They stand there, quiet for a while. 

When he finally does look up, his gaze follows the map of her face, the rivers forming from her eyes. Her sight is locked to him.

“Jessica…” Gil’s voice quivers, “Jackie and I are blessed to have Malcolm in our life...” Jessica pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and Gil is afraid she’s a moment away from breaking entirely. “...but we’re not replacing anyone...and if you feel that way, I will walk out right now, and you will never have to deal with me again.”

The woman swipes under one of her eyes as she says bitterly, “And that will go _swimmingly_ with Malcolm.”

Gil shakes his head, “I am not just here for Malcolm…” He watches as she drops her head. “...I am here for you, too. But you have to stop believing that you’re all alone in this.” 

That catches her. She slowly raises her eyes to him.

”Because you’re not alone. Give me a chance to throw you a line” She sniffs. “I’m here for you...and I have often found that the bravest people are the ones who are too afraid to ask for help. So you’re getting my help whether you like or not,” he sighs.

She wipes the other side of her face. “Well, Officer Arroyo, I didn’t know you doubled as a motivational speaker,” she deadpans.

He laughs. Finally a patch of light. “Yeah, you didn’t know? Actually, it pays better than NYPD.”

She chuckles along, “Well, I can believe that.”

“Hey! It’s only okay when I crack on ‘em,” Gil feigns. “They got a good pension anyways. Stock options, you know.”

At that, she laughs. And Gil can’t believe how relieved he is to hear it.

“I am so incredibly sorry, Jessica." He's unsure that he can delineate exactly how terrible he feels. Especially when she looks at him like that. "I overstepped. I overstepped, and I'm supposed to be here to support you, not accuse you."

She takes a deep breath. “You know, since all of this has happened, I don’t think I have had a genuine comment or a real gesture towards me. I think people pity me, and I think people feel bad, and they have no _clue_ how to relate, so they give their best wishes and prayers, but they’re at such a loss that they’re all just hoping I never call on them to actually cash it in.”

Gil’s heart hurts.

“But you…” She smiles slightly as she looks at him, eyes sparkling with fresh tears. “You didn’t know me; you owe me nothing. And you and your wife opened your home to my son.” She moves and gingerly sits back down. Propping her head on a hand that rests on her knees. “You’re probably the most genuine person I know.”

Gil says nothing, only moving to sit beside her. He searches the side of her face until she turns to him. The corner of her mouth turns up ever so gently, and Gil feels the heartache subside the slightest bit.

“I need to rein it in. You’re right.” Gil goes to interject. She won’t allow it. “You threw me a line, and now I am taking it. I need to. For Malcolm and Ainsley...and my own sanity. The last thing I need is to lose my children because I can’t hold myself together.” She raises her head from her hand to look at him properly. “So, I will work on that.”

Gil smiles. “You’re a great mother.”

“The best, honey.” She smooths her dress as she changes the subject, “Well, this has been a productive talk; you’ll have to start charging me for these sessions, eventually. And my son has been waiting for you long enough, so I think you should go find him. I should check on Ainsley, too.”

Gil clears his throat, springing up to stand. “You’re right. And hey, the first two sessions are free.” The man says as he exits through the door Malcolm ran out of what seems like forever ago.

She rises as well. “Well, that’s convenient.” Jessica follows shortly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since we didn't get any Gil/Jessica moments in tonight's episode (beside her off-hand "friend" comment to Marsh), I thought I should power through and publish this. I was not expecting it to be this long. To be honest, I think this will be the longest chapter of the story. I finally know where this story is going, so I hope you're ready for an emotional ride.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time has passed and Martin Whitly is sentenced. Of course things don't go well.

**Chapter 3**

The foreman was still speaking, but he couldn't hear the words after. 

Gil heard the pounding of blood in his skull and he felt the air in his lungs still. Everything moved in slow motion.

He saw lawyers shaking hands…

Crowds of people circling about...

Pristine suits...

A gavel smashing down but making no sound…

A smug smile, wide for the world to see...

_"...the defendant is sentenced to serve a term of imprisonment at Claremont Psychiatric Hospital of New York for his natural life."_

The words repeated in his brain. He could barely hear them. And then that smug face met his own. It followed with a boastful wink in the man's direction.

It took every ounce of Gil's strength not to leap over the railing and pummel the doctor's face into oblivion. He felt his fist clench then quickly release. _If only._ Instead, he stared long and hard at Martin Whitly. He'd understand the message _: you may have won this, but your family is free of you._

Martin's smile faltered momentarily. Did Gil detect a sense of uneasiness in The Surgeon? But the doctor swallowed and quickly recovered, turning himself to continue shaking hands with his team of bloodsuckers.

Gil took a deep breath. His suit was suffocating. He needed to get out of here. 

His eyes scan the busy courtroom for Jessica, but he can't find the maroon dress among the sea of beige and brown. He doesn't blame her for tearing out of this place, and he can only guess where she'd go. She is vulnerable now more than ever, he thinks, as he begins to shuffle past the clusters of people to exit the room. When he finally makes it to the hall, he pulls his cell from his jacket pocket. He’s still getting used to the odd weight of it, but he must admit, it does come in handy. He dials the number by heart. It only rings twice.

"Hello?"

"Hey Jack," Gil's voice is quiet against the raucous spilling into the hall. 

"Gil!" His wife's voice breaks her usual sing-song composure then cuts to a whisper. "I was just about to call you. How are you holding up? I just saw the news and then the phone rang..." He is about to protest before she continues. "And don't worry, I had it on CC in the other room while Malcolm and Ainsley helped me bake cookies. I left for two minutes. They saw none of it…but our kitchen is a disaster now." Gil smiles at that as he makes his way out of the hall.

"I'm fine, but I can't find Jessica." He says as he pushes past an aggressively immobile crowd. He shoulder-checks a guy and doesn't bother to apologize.

Jackie's voice drops even quieter. "Jessica actually called me before you called just now. She asked if we could watch the kids for a few more hours. I can't imagine what this is doing to her... And I can tell Malcolm is more distant than usual. He doesn't know entirely what is wrong, but he's almost thirteen; he's not stupid. It won't take him long to figure it out." 

Gil manages to make it to the first floor of the courthouse and quickly breaks out the door. A mob of reporters greet him as he races to get down the stone steps. Gil presses the phone closer to his ear as microphones, tape recorders, and cameras are shoved in his face. He hears Jackie speaking in his ear, but he's unsure of what she's saying. People shout questions, and the policeman is blinded by the flash of a dozen cameras. He's taken aback, but his wife’s voice comes through.

"Gil, get in a cab! Now!" He hears that. The officer slides past the remaining reporters to find the street. A line of yellow cabs wait and Gil has never been so happy to see the black and yellow pattern. Balancing the phone between his cheek and his shoulder, he climbs in and slams the door closed as reporters crowd his windows.

"Where to, sir?" The man behind the steering wheel cautiously asks.

"Anywhere. Away from here." And with that, the cabbie pulls out onto Centre and Gil feels like he can finally breathe.

"Are you ok?" Jackie's voice asks solemnly.

Gil takes a breath. "Yeah, I'm fine. But if it was that bad for me, it was probably infinitely worse for her." 

The couple has been married long enough to know what that means. He is about to go into police mode. Before he continues, however, Jackie begins.

"Then go find Jessica." He could hear an uneasiness in her voice. "We'll pop in a movie."

"Are you sure?" 

Jackie's sigh echoes through the phone. "Gil… she needs you. We'll be fine." 

But then why does Gil suddenly feel so guilty?

"Jackie…" Gil twists in his seat as he hears a piercing chime from Jackie's end of the line.

"Hey, I gotta go. The cookies are done. And I left the kids in the kitchen, which means another bomb of flour has probably gone off." She laughs, the air of the situation long gone. "I got this, Gil." 

She was right. She's always right. "Thank you. I love you." He says sincerely. He hopes his voice conveys it as much as he means it.

"Love ya. Bye." Jackie says sweetly.

"B–" The line goes out before he can finish.

Leaning back into his seat, Gil hears the radio play some old song he hasn't heard in a while while he glances down at his watch. It's nearly noon. He switches his sight to the cell he's palmed, and softly dials Jessica's number.

It rings.

And rings.

And eventually goes to voicemail.

He could've guessed.

"Excuse me, sir?" Gil knocks a knuckle on the plexi between them. "Can we head to the upper East? I'll give you a specific address when we get closer." 

The man nods and gives a clipped 'yes' as he focuses on the road.

"We may be making a few stops, too." The man nods again and Gil presses redial, bringing the phone to his ear." 

_Where would she go?_

Well, after a couple hours of driving around, Gil feels like he’s losing his touch. He is ready to give up and head home. 

He started with her house but was met with the cleaning lady who hadn't seen her since this morning. He made it to a few restaurants he knew she liked, but only one maître d had seen her recently and that was a day ago. At this point, he'd wracked up a hefty meter with the cab driver and had to stop at an ATM because he didn't have enough cash. 

That's when he realized it was probably better to call it quits. He thanked the man for humoring him, paid his fare, and watched the cab drive off as he stood with his hands in his pockets on the sidewalk.

He figured he could check the Whitly residence one more time before heading back. So Gil started off towards the townhouse on foot with the autumn air whipping around him. He pulled his jacket closer but was thankful for losing the tie early in his search.

After a few blocks, he is surprised by the sound of his phone ringing. _Probably Jackie wondering where I am._ He presses the call button. "Arroyo,” he states mechanically.

"Is that a way to address a lady you've tried to call...what was it? _Twelve_ times?"

Gil halts. Jessica laughs.

"So sorry, I've been engaged elsewhere. You know, my ex-husband received a Get Out of Jail Free card today." Her voice sounds manic. "At first I was afraid something was wrong with Ainsley or Malcolm, but by your fifth message, I kind of got the gist of it."

"Jessica, where are you?" She's moved to babbling through the phone, clearly not listening to him. "Jessica, please. I've been searching all of Manhattan since the courthouse. Are you home? Do I need to pick you up?"

The semi-incoherent chatter halts. "Oh nonsense, I'm within walking distance to the house."

Gil looks around, as if she could be standing behind him. "Where? So am I."

The line goes still.

"Jessica? You there? Did I lose you?"

"....No. I'm here. But Gil, really. I'm fine." Her voice is the farthest thing from it.

He sighs in resistance. "Do I need to start shouting your name up and down the street?"

A raspberry blows through Gil’s speaker. "Please do not embarrass yourself in such a manner. Have it your way; I am at the Candy Shop."

Relief and confusion washes over Gil. He took Malcolm there often. It was close to the Whitly household, but Jessica never joined; it didn't seem like her thing. "You've been blocks from your house this whole time?" Gil wants to be angry, but at the same time he's the one who decided to go on the wild goose chase in the first place. He turns and heads north towards Lexington.

"Not the whole time. I've been here maybe half an hour." The voice on the other end is shrinking.

“Stay put. I’ll be there in ten.” He hangs up without a word more.

The walk to the little luncheonette is uneventful, but Gil can’t deny the nervousness growing within him. He’s not sure what kind of state he’ll find her in. When he reaches the entrance, he pauses. She obviously did not want to be found. _What am I doing?_

He opens the doors and is greeted by a smile from the man behind the counter. “Have a seat wherever you like.”

“Oh, he’s with me!” Gil turns to his right to find the top of Jessica’s head in a corner booth. He can’t see her face as she’s turned away from him, but her arm is up to signal her presence. She motions him to come over, not bothering to look up. He thanks the man and makes his way to the table, moving past a few people on stools shuffling about along the way. 

He slides nimbly into the seat across from her, and that is when he finally gets a good look at her. A solemn breath escapes him.

The woman across from him flashes a signature grin, but the tortoise sunglasses resting on her face don't hide much from Gil. He knows better. That facade is for when she's most vulnerable.

He'll need to tread carefully.

"What a surprise, Officer Arroyo. Are the children all right?" Any other day, the saccharine in her voice may have drawn a smile, but Gil's expression stays neutral.

"They're ok. Last I checked, Jackie had them baking cookies." Gil tilted his head as he spoke to get a better look behind those sunglasses, but Jessica wasn't fooled. She turned to look at memorabilia on the wall as if she was suddenly interested in old photographs and news clippings.

Her voice is dull. “Well that’s sweet.”

His best bet is to keep her talking. Get her mind off of things. “Speaking of sweet, what is all this?” Gil gestures towards the spread before them on the table: a quickly melting banana split, a slice of berry pie, a plate of fries, and a half-eaten pile of pancakes doused in so much syrup that it makes Gil’s teeth hurt.

Jessica’s head snaps back to look at him. “Is that judgement I detect?” Her voice is sour. 

He smiles despite her attitude, picking up a fork. “None whatsoever.” The utensil hovers over the pie. “I really just want this slice.” He can’t see her eyes, but he assumes they’re rolling nonetheless.

Without a word, she waves on her permission and Gil dives his fork into the braided crust. He hasn’t eaten in hours, after all. The darkened lenses stay fixed on him but he doesn’t mind.

Gil’s mouth is already half-full of pie as he motions with his fork “What’s the tomato juice for?” The glass sits on the far end of the table untouched.

Jessica shrugs, “I was going to make my own Bloody Mary, but I changed my mind.” Gil holds back a chuckle knowing full well that this place doesn’t serve alcohol. What surprises him more is how she always manages to smuggle booze into such small purses.

He occasionally risks a glance her way as she begins to stab a mound of ice cream with a spoon, but the silence between them stays only until Gil finishes his pie.

“What’d it do to you?” Gil asks with concern for the sundae.

She doesn’t look up. “I’m imagining it’s Martin’s overstuffed head.” Jessica’s point is accentuated by the light thud of her spoon jabbing the scoop between every other word.

“Fair enough.” He pauses. “Can I have some fries?”

“Help yourself.” She slides the plate over to him with her free hand but promptly drops the torture device back into the serving boat. She turns herself towards Gil’s recent acquisition of food and swipes the fry he was holding to pop into her own mouth.

Shock overtakes him. “Excuse me?”

She smiles sheepishly “They sound good now.”

“We can share, you know.” He goes to grab another fry but Jessica snatches it from his hands once again. Gil mocks offense. 

“Oh, don’t give me that, you said we were sharing.” She chuckles and Gil hopes the eyes behind the glasses are a little brighter. But the third time’s a charm as he swipes a new fry in some residual ketchup. This one makes it to his stomach.

They sit quietly for a few long minutes more. If this were any other day, the police officer contemplates, he could chalk it up to a good one. Content. If he could ignore the bullshit that went down earlier, he could even argue that this all seems normal. Two friends, enjoying each other’s company while grabbing a bite to eat. But Gil hasn’t had a lot of normalcy in his life as of late. He’s fairly certain this is mostly the Whitly’s doing. Not that he blames them, but he wishes they had ‘normal’ in their lives. Malcolm _needs_ it. Jessica could use it. 

“So are we gonna talk anymore about it?” Gil dares to tread.

Jessica’s sunglasses rise to meet his hard gaze and raised eyebrow. The social-aristocrat doesn’t respond, but her hands hold either side of her lenses and pull them down her face. She folds them neatly onto the tabletop without breaking her stare.

Gil sucks in a cool breath at the sight.

Her eyes are puffy. Mascara blends like watercolor at the tops of each cheek. Red speckles the porcelain skin underneath.

“What’s left to say?” She huffs plainly.

Gil rubs his hands together nervously on the table. “I’m not gonna be your therapist on this one, but I want you to know you can talk to me if you want. That’s all.”

Jessica leans back in her seat and folds her arms across herself. The heavy, gold bracelet on her slim wrist jingles with her defiance. “I have nothing to add.”

The man leans in, folding his fingers over themselves. “And that’s fine,” letting her retreat a bit.

A slender hand slams on the table and Gil, along with the rest of the restaurant patrons, jumps. “YOU KNOW WHAT–” Jessica heaves forward towards her companion with fervor, but all the eyes now on her keep her from speaking further. 

Her voice drops to a raspy whisper. “You know what was the _cherry_ on top of today?” Gil ignores the new audience and leans in even closer to listen, half excited and half terrified of the oncoming rant. 

“After that car crash of a sentencing this morning, I couldn’t bear to be there a moment longer. As I was dodging reporters, popping a terribly inadequate dose of lorazepam, and trying not to _heave_ onto my Manolo Blahniks, I was approached by a _so-called_ friend.” She hisses. “Some friend! Cornered, more like it!” Gil props his chin on his hand, enthralled with amusement.

“And I thought–I _thought_ she was there to console me.” A low growl erupts from her. “She asked me how I was, if I needed anything, how I felt. HA!” She grinds on, “And then it dawned on me. That half-witted floozy was there for a scoop!" Her eyes roll dramatically, "I can imagine it now, pointing to page six with the rest of the roaches, fawning over her mentioned as an 'inside source.' It's despicable, honestly."

Gil shrugged in understanding. "So what did you do?"

Her eyes light up a little. "I _wanted_ to slap that self-satisfying smirk off her face, but alas, I was interrupted by another acquaintance."

"Another half-witted floozy?" The voice across the table asked amused.

Mrs. Whitly shook her head. "No, surprisingly. But he swooped in and shut her down in an instant. That, I did appreciate." She smiled as she thought back on the encounter. "He even offered to smuggle me out of the courthouse in his car."

Gil perked up at that. "And he didn't want an 'inside scoop?'" His brow arching with his inflection.

She dismissed his suggestive tone with a 'hmph'. "Don't be crude. In fact, Nicholas never even asked me about Martin or the trial. We merely drove around and talked about anything else until I asked his driver to drop me off here. He is quite the gentleman."

It's Gil's turn now to roll his eyes, and she just laughs. The smile on her face is a stark contrast to the ruined makeup. He realizes he's close enough to see the slightest bit of gray in her blue eyes and somehow that thought calms him. A long, relaxed breath leaves her as she studies the man in front of her. She's looking at him like it's the first time she's seen him, sending a newfound chill down his spine.

Without warning, her eyes break from his as she shifts strangely in her seat. The detective in him can't help but wonder why.

"I really should be getting back to the children." Jessica explains as she dabs the paint from under her eyes She swiftly moves to gather her things and get up from the table. "I've already paid, so if you like, I can have my driver take us to your place to get them?"

Gil flicks his wrist to check his watch, but the time doesn't actually register. "Oh, sure. I bet Jackie is wondering where we are." He hops up from his seat to join her as she absently nods approval while trying to put on her coat. Jessica struggles to fit an arm into the beige trench coat, and before she can even adjust, Gil is behind her holding the garment in place. He slides the fabric onto her effortlessly, hands brushing her capped shoulders faintly. She radiates warmth, and the material of her dress is soft against his coarse knuckles.

She angles her head to glance back at him with a face of gratitude, but Gil sees something in her features that he still can’t quite place. Her eyes are wide, however, not in surprise or confusion. The muscles of her brows knit as her eyes go glossy. A delicate smile quirks at the side of her mouth. The intensity of her look is too much for Gil who feels the need to find a spot on the wall to ponder.

She only turns away when he finally speaks. "So, uh, shall we?" The man leads with his arm towards the door.

Jessica nods, "We shall." She takes off before him and exits the establishment with ease, Gil at her heels, although he quickly matches her stride as they make it to the corner of the sidewalk. She pauses to pull the cell phone from her purse, dialing a number with ease. The phone has barely reached her ear before she begins

"Hello." Pause. "Yes. I'm at the Shop and will also need to pick up the children. Officer Arroyo is with me as well. We will be taking him home." Another pause. "Wonderful. Thank you." She ends the call without a goodbye. "He'll be here shortly."

Gil nods in silent approval, but neither chooses to speak. As they wait, he finds himself rocking slightly on his heels, unsure of how to fill the space. Jessica is no help either as she absently taps her foot on the pavement, but he can see her giving a few sideways glances.

"So…" Gil trails, "How is Malcolm?"

"Oh, you know. About the same." Her tone sounds thankful for filling out the awkwardness. Then Jessica lights up as if something just dawned on her. "Although I did enroll Malcolm in ballet this month." She coos as any proud mother would.

Gil laughs fully. "Really?!"

Jessica playfully swats his shoulders. "Don't be like that. He is _loving_ it!"

Gil retreats. "Hey, I’m just surprised you convinced him to get involved in something is all."

"It is rather sweet to watch." Jessica says wholeheartedly as she pulls her coat tighter around her. "Just don't tell him I told you. He'll be so embarrassed."

As the words leave her lips, Jessica's Town Car pulls up in front of them.

Gil's laugh is solid and full. "Oh, do _not_ worry. Your secret is safe with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had about 75% of this written seeing after "Scheherazade," but I was waiting for more Gil/Jessica material to incorporate. Well, Monday's episode pretty much shot my story to shit (I have a pet-peeve of not writing in canon, which is hysterical considering I love reading canon divergence). But I've never been happier. Gil & Jessica happened and now I can die happy. Let me know what you think. I still struggle to really enjoy my writing when I reread it (like actors who hate to watch their work), so if you think there's anything I can change, let me know!! Thanks for reading and hope you're all happy and healthy during this crazy time!
> 
> P.S. Remember when I said the last chapter was going to be the longest LOL yet here we are

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment or kudos to let me know how I'm doing.


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